“It will be all right,” he said to her now. “I have thought the whole thing through. I have told you Mr. Demarkian has promised to talk to the people at the Immigration and Naturalization Service?”
Carmencita tried to nod, but it made her head hurt. She lifted up her hand and let it drop instead.
“Mr. Demarkian is a very powerful man,” Itzaak said, “and it is likely he can do what he has said he can do. But it is not a hundred percent certain. Nothing is a hundred percent certain. I do not like to take too many chances.”
Carmencita raised her hand and dropped it again.
“If Mr. Demarkian cannot do what he says he can do, then we have a number of possible courses of actions. In the first place, we should get married. In my opinion, we should get married even if Mr. Demarkian can do what he says he can do, because I love you. But I will understand, Carmencita, if you do not wish to marry me.”
This required more than a hand raised and dropped. What was she supposed to do? Her jaw was wired shut. Moving her head in any direction at all made her feel ready to explode. She raised her hand and dropped it again, raised her hand and dropped it again, raised her hand and dropped it again, over and over, as quickly as she could. At least it got his attention.
“You mustn’t do that,” he said, frowning. “You will hurt yourself. The doctor has said it. For the next two weeks or so, you will be very fragile.”
Fragile, Carmencita thought. If she was going to be here for two weeks like this with Itzaak babbling nonsense about how he’d understand it if she did not want to marry him, she was going to be a raving lunatic before they ever took the wires out of her jaw. She raised her hand in the air and made writing motions. She did her best to compose her face into a mask of sternness and resolve. She didn’t think she succeeded. Demerol made everything so—squishy. Squooshy squashy. Squirt.
Itzaak was still frowning at her. “Something to write with,” he said. “You want something to write with. But you cannot write, Carmencita. You do not have the strength.”
Carmencita made writing motions in the air again. Itzaak got up and started to look around the room.
“I have talked to Lotte,” he said, “and we have talked to the doctors, and we have talked to Rabbi Goldman and his wife. That is where we will take you, when you are released from there. That will be the week after next. I will not go on with the show, Carmencita, I will stay here and take my vacation time. I have much vacation time due to me because I have never taken any. So, you will be released just in time for the first night of Hanukkah. You will like it, Carmencita. Especially at Rabbi Goldman’s house. The rebbitzin is a wonderful woman.”
Carmencita was sure that Rebekkah Goldman was a wonderful woman. She was also sure there was a pen stuck into the medical chart hanging at the foot of her bed. She had seen a doctor put it there. She tried to think of a way to tell Itzaak and just couldn’t.
Itzaak was looking through a tray of gauze and bandage tape. Why did he think he was going to find a pen there?
“It is a beautiful ceremony,” he said. “There is the menorah with the shammes in the middle, to light all the other candles. And there are blessings. One is in praise of God who commanded us to light the Hanukkah lights, and one is in praise of God who did the miracle that we want to commemorate. And on the first night of Hanukkah there is a third one, in praise of God who has kept us—has kept the Jews—a people from that time to this, still alive and together. Which, considering some of the things that have happened to us, may be more of a miracle than a day’s oil that lasts for eight. I just realized, Carmencita, there is a lot of praising God with us. Maybe there is also a lot of praising God with you. I do not know much about Catholicism.”
I don’t know much about Catholicism, either, Carmencita thought, not in the way he means it. Itzaak had moved away from the medical tray and gone to search through the small bureau. Carmencita would be very surprised if there was actually anything in it. She hadn’t had any clothes brought to the hospital from her hotel room yet. The hospital didn’t supply courtesy stationary and a room service menu.
“Later on, after the candles are lit, there is a song,” Itzaak said. “It’s called ‘Ma’oz Tzur.’ It is a song about all the times God has saved us. It has six verses, but it could have a hundred and six. Or a thousand and six. And it stops with Frederick Barbarossa, who was emperor of Germany in the twelfth century. Maybe no one has had the heart to do an update since then. It is a melody you may know, Carmencita, it was not written just for this song. I have heard several Protestant Christian hymns with the same music.”